I, Who Have Nothing
by Dragonland
Summary: Plans leading up to their vacation.
1. Chapter 1

Title: I, Who Have Nothing

Author: Dragonland

Email: M, for mature language

Summary: Wilson's infidelity causes a rift in the relationship.

Spoilers: Nothing specific

Archive: Yes, but please ask. I'd love to visit your website.

Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me and either does the show, which is okay because I couldn't afford it anyway. But I get to play with them for free.

Warning: Mature dialog, leading to some future mature scenes.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" House growled.

Wilson looked at him helplessly and shrugged his shoulders.

"Wrong answer."

House landed a right hook on the corner of Wilson's jaw that made him stumble to the ground. Hot tears stung in his eyes, but he resisted from touching his face.

"Get out," came the dangerous whisper from House.

"House, please."

"Do you have a hearing problem? Get. The. Fuck. Out!" he enunciated harshly

"Greg… please don't."

House was seeing red, knowing full well that Wilson wasn't going to leave without a fight.

"Don't call me that!" he spat.

Wilson's breath hitched and sobs wracked his quivering frame. House looked on with disgust.

"Get a grip. If I was that important to you, you wouldn't have slept with a fucking nurse. But I can't say that I'm surprised. Doctor James FUCKING Wilson, boy wonder oncologist, cock like a rock," he bellowed sarcastically.

The words stung, but he took it all in silence.

"What? No witty comeback? No rationalization of behavior?" House pushed.

"I don't deny it," Wilson murmured.

"I heard about it from the nurses' station. God, Wilson! Couldn't you have enough professional courtesy to tell me that we're over?"

"That's not what I- "

"I'll say it for you," he interrupted. "We're done. I hope she was the best lay you've ever had!"

A cry of anguish rang from Wilson's throat. But before getting to his feet, he took a shaky breath.

"How does it feel to be fucked over?" Wilson sobbed.

"What?" House responded incredulously.

"I said-," Wilson cleared his throat and said in a stronger voice, "How does it feel to be fucked over?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"I've loved you for eight years. I've dedicated my life to you, risked my professional career twice for you. God, doesn't that mean something?"

"Piss poor judgment. You're an enabler," House said, trying to hurt him.

"I made a mistake!"

"Is that all?"

"A huge fucking mistake, alright?" Wilson exclaimed.

"No, it's not alright!"

A terrible silence settled over the two of them. Finally Wilson spoke up.

"Did-did you ever think we'd be too good to be true?"

"I honestly didn't think you'd make it this long," House confessed.

"Oh, House," Wilson groaned sadly. "I-I never thought-" Wilson groaned in frustration, searching for the right words, wild gestures unhelpful to his thought process.

"Thought I'd find out? Generally I don't listen to the mindless chatter of the nurses. Really, it was dumb luck," House said, hobbling to the couch. "Was the sex sub-par? I haven't been with a man since-," he said, trying to take the pressure off his ego.

Wilson was eager, perhaps a little to eager to diffuse House's fears.

"No! You were the best I've ever had."

"Ah, past tense," House smiled bitterly.

"You know what I mean. And seriously, is this the best time for a grammar lesson?" Wilson asked annoyingly.

"You're a doctor, for God's sake! You should be able to say what you mean!"

"I was lonely," Wilson murmured.

"You needed to get fucked," House countered.

"I craved an intimate touch and she was convenient."

"An honest statement, thank God!" He fumed. "I want details."

"Details of what?"

"Of how you seduced her, how and when you fucked her."

"House, is that really necessary?"

House glared at him, and Wilson knew he had an answer.

"I lost a patient. A little girl."

"You've lost patients before."

"This girl, Elizabeth," Wilson continued, ignoring House's statement. "She was a ward of the state. When she was diagnosed with Leukemia, she was in between foster homes. No mother or father to speak of. Both addicted to Methamphetamines. No one was with her when she died. The attending nurse that found her… I gave her my address and a time to meet me."

Wilson looked up at House, whose face was expressionless. He sighed and continued.

"I was completely lucid. We had sex the whole night. I tried to make it good for her, but,"

He tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat, and continued. "But having sex while you're crying is really hard. Anyway, she left in the morning. Probably as empty as I am."

House was studying the frame of his distraught lover. His generally animated hands were quietly placed in his lap. The formation of a bruise was beginning to appear on his chin. Every so often, Wilson would tremble. House stood up and hobbled over to the edge of the couch. Wilson immediately looked up and saw the pain in House's face.

"Come on," House grunted.

Wilson followed him into the bedroom that they once shared. At the end of the bed, House turned to Wilson. He moved in closer, and placed the palm of his hand gently on Wilson's abdomen. Shocks of electricity shot through his frazzled system. House then raised his hands to loosen the knot in Wilson's tie. When he reached the buttons, he fumbled with the first few, but they eventually all came undone. In the beginning of their love making career, Wilson lost dozens of shirts to House's frantic need to see his chest, buttons be damned. However, House kept Wilson's undershirt intact, and began to work on his belt buckle. When he was able to undo the buckle, he slid the perfect pair of khaki Dockers down his beautiful hips. He had to restrain himself from kissing his hipbone. Once his pants were around his ankles, his voice broke the spell.

"Sit down," House commanded.

Wilson obediently sat on the edge of the bed, and watched as House knelt down beside him. He took off his loafers, and slid the pants away with them.

"I want you to lie down."

Wilson had no idea what was running through his lover's head. But he would oblige anything House wanted, just to be able to stay a while longer. House stood slowly from the floor, and began to take off his clothing, with the exception of his boxers and t-shirt. When he climbed into bed, he scooted close to Wilson, hoping he'd get the hint and roll over. When it was obvious that he wasn't getting the hint, House asked.

"Look at me, James," he urged.

The tears spilled freely from Wilson's eyes as he turned to face his fate.

"A little bit closer," House said in a sing-song voice.

A small grin made an appearance on Wilson's face. As soon as he got close enough, he buried his face into House's chest and started sobbing like a child. House wasn't surprised at the open display of emotions. He'd lent the proverbial shoulder to cry on when Wilson was going through his divorces. They didn't cry together, but instead consumed large amounts of alcohol and watched old comedy movies. Offering sincere physical-emotional support was sort of a foreign concept to him. Wilson's cries were intensifying and House could feel his heart rate becoming much more rapid. House was grasping at straws, trying to think of ways to comfort him. He snaked his arm around Wilson's waist and stroked his lower back.

"What would I do if one of my patients were spiraling out of control?" House asked himself. "I'd probably drug him, and let someone else take care of it."

But Wilson wasn't just a patient. He was his best friend, his lover.

"I'm sorry," Wilson hiccupped between gasps of breath. "So sorry, sorry, sorry," he cried into House's chest as a mantra.

House had to bite his tongue. He immediately wanted to respond with something along the lines of, "You tell all your ex-lovers that?" But he clamped his mouth and exercised some of that self control that everyone around him talked about.

After an hour of intense crying, House knew that Wilson must've had a headache that wouldn't quit. When House moved his arm, Wilson jerked up to look at House. God, was he a sight! His whole face was bright red, especially around the rims of his eyes and nostrils. He looked like hell.

"You're dehydrated. And I'm sure you have a headache. I'll be right back."

"I'll live. Just don't leave me," Wilson pleaded.

"Don't be ridiculous!" House snapped. A look of annoyance washed over his face when Wilson flinched. "You'll feel better. Just let me get the water and ibuprofen. Trust me, I'm a doctor."

Wilson tried to smile, but it came across as a grimace.

"I'll be back. Now, could you let go of my ass for a second?" House said, sliding from his grasp.

Though he'd never admit it to Wilson, he was in pain. His leg was in pain since they went to bed. Hobbling to the kitchen was no easy task. He rummaged around and found the ibuprofen, a water bottle and the blessed vicodin. He took his immediately and limped back to the bedroom. Wilson was still slumped in the spot where he left him 5 minutes ago.

"Wilson, sit up and take the medicine," he prodded gently.

He propped himself up on his elbows and took the drugs in submissive silence. Looking down at his shirt, he saw dried snot and wet blotches from Wilson's tears. As he turned to limp to the dresser, he felt Wilson's fingers grasping his wrist.

"Take it off, and come back to bed."

"Demanding, are we?" House scoffed.

"Greg, please," Wilson pleaded. "I need you."

Grumbling silently, House climbed into bed with his shirt discarded somewhere close to Wilson's. Before his head could even hit the pillow, Wilson was attached to his side. House could hear stray sniffles from his broken friend. He knew that he would have to punish Wilson. But tonight, he'd just sigh and plot internally.


	2. Conditions of Change

A/N: Hey, thanks for all of you who are reading. It brightens my day to hear from you. I have to credit 5 hours a sleep and countless hours of "Family Guy" for my sarcastic tone in this story. And now, on with the show!

* * *

House woke to the feeling of someone running their silky hands up and down on his slowly hardening shaft. Pleasure shot throughout his hazy body. When he was coherent enough to look down, he noticed Wilson, _his Wilson_ working his cock with a curious determination. Suppressing a groan, and his male instinct, he took his own hands, to still the pleasurable movements. 

"Not yet," House muttered, voice still thick with sleep.

Wilson looked up sadly and removed his hands. With a renewal of false cheeriness, Wilson asked House what he wanted for breakfast.

"Vicodin with a whiskey chaser," he thought to himself. Clearing his throat, he replied, "Come back to bed. I don't think-"

"I'll run down to the store and pick up some breakfast sandwiches. I'm sure you don't even have any decent coffee around here," he said, ignoring House's comment.

Wilson slipped on his wrinkled Dockers, and found one of Houses' t-shirts. Wandering to the bathroom, he dreaded seeing his disheveled appearance. He attempted to run his fingers through the clumps of matted hair. The way he looked made him groan in desperation. His skin was blotchy and red. He looked and felt ugly.

"If you come back to bed, no one will see 'morning-face' Wilson," House teased from the bed.

"We have jobs, House. Shouldn't we be getting ready?" he responded, at a loss of what to do with his hair.

"It's Saturday. We don't work on Saturday."

"But I'm _hungry_," Wilson complained.

"God, he's a whiny little runt. What's more important? Pretty boy Wilson image or food?"

Wilson flicked off the bathroom light, and stripped back down to his boxers and undershirt. Climbing back into bed, he sighed grumpily. Wilson turned on his side, and waited for House to continue.

"We're going to shift down to serious mode now," he said, making the sound his motorcycle does when it winded down. "I made a list. I seriously need a whiteboard here in the apartment."

"A list?" Wilson asked curiously, "A list of what?"

"Of all the woman I've ever slept with," he replied with obvious annoyance. "Curiosity sated yet?"

Wilson rolled his eyes and put his hand under his head.

"You need to be punished. It's quite obvious that you have a behavior problem. You have an insatiable desire for sex. While that's good for a monogamous relationship, you're a high risk for 'stepping out'. I'm going to take a page out of Pavlov's theory and train you to reverse the behavior."

Wilson looked at House, his mouth agape. "I'm not a dog!" he said indignantly.

"I never said you were a-"

"You're comparing me to Pavlov's theory!" Wilson exclaimed. "He used dogs."

"And what was the study about?"

"Changing conditioned response?"

"Bingo."

Wilson cringed at the terrible joke and gave House a disapproving look.

"You're going cold turkey. No sex for three months."

"House!" Wilson cried out.

"It's for your own good."

Wilson huffed, but listened anyway.

"Okay. No sex for three months. Ah! No 'choking the chicken' for a week. 7 days. Starting now. No kissing for a week, no sleeping together for two weeks. Oh, but you'll be here. On the comfy couch." House muttered to himself as he flipped through his notes. "What else do I have here? No hugging for a week. And one of my personal favorites. You'll provide lunch, everyday. And you'll hand deliver it."

The look on Wilson's face shouted, "Are you serious?"

"If you're never deprived, how you know what you're missing out on?" House responded sensibly.

"Where can I get a list of these demands?"

"Oh, you," House mock flirted. "Were you too busy looking into my eyes to ignore the big words coming out of my mouth? You'll get a copy soon enough. But you remember the highlights, right?"

Wilson reached for House's hand and squeezed firmly. House raised his eyebrows to the touch.

"You never said we couldn't hold hands," Wilson offered as a weak defense.

House rolled his eyes and offered a firm rebuttal. "Not at work, and only if you've followed the rules all day long."

"'Kay," Wilson mumbled as he ran his thumb idly across House's thumb.

"You can back out. If you don't want to-"

"It's the only way. And knowing you, it's my only option of keeping you," Wilson replied adamantly.

"You're lucky I'm not a heartless bastard," House replied, trying to lighten the mood. "I was going to make you last three months before you could tame the one-eyed monster."

"Something tells me you're not going to make this easy," Wilson sighed wearily.

House laughed evilly, and propped himself up in bed. "Now, pretty boy. Throw on a hat and get me some breakfast!"


	3. Chapter 3

"This going to be the week from hell," Wilson grumbled to himself.

He'd caught House being overly affectionate with Cuddy. Despite the fact that it was completely normal for House to be a manipulate jerk, it still stung. He wasn't used to being so jealous. Shooting death glares through the glass door that separated House's office from the hall, he huffed down the hall. Wilson kept himself busy for the rest of the day, trying to focus on his patients, and not his pathetic excuse for a relationship.

When Wilson arrived home, he saw House fiddling with a baby monitor, the rest of the contents of the box strewn across the couch.

"Are you expecting?" Wilson asked sarcastically.

"Oh, Wilson, you caught me!" House responded in mock surprise. "But you'll be there for our baby, right? Be my baby's daddy?" House batted his eyes longingly.

Wilson scoffed as he made his way into the living room. "Seriously, what is this all about?"

"Isn't it obvious? You need monitoring," he replied, nodding at the boxes on the couch.

"House!" he exclaimed, obviously offended. "I am an adult. Is-is this really necessary?"

"You've proven you can't be left to your own devices. Plus, studies show that when 'big brother' is watching, you'll have a higher chance of not relapsing."

"_What_ study?" Wilson snapped.

"A medical study, duh! Don't you read medical studies, _Doctor Wilson?_"

Wilson rolled his eyes and headed towards the kitchen. "What do you want for dinner?"

"Something homemade. To keep your hands busy," House responded, chuckling.

Wilson loosened his tie, and slipped it off. Griping around the kitchen, he found the proper ingredients to make something palatable.

Truth be told, he was glad to be home at a reasonable hour. Glad to know that someone cared about him to know his whereabouts and to keep him in line. He rolled out the thawed pizza dough and thought about how he'd make it.

"Makin' a lot of noise in there! What is it?" House bellowed from the couch.

"Spinach chicken pizza with a salad."

House groaned animatedly. "Why do you insist on making hippie crap?"

"It's to trick you into eating your vegetables."

"It's not very tricky if I can see the damn vegetables on the pizza. Can't we just order out if it's just pizza?"

"I'm keeping my hands busy," Wilson replied, mocking House. "Watch your show so I can finish dinner."

House returned to his Tivo, selecting an episode of Family Guy that would surely curl Wilson's toes.

Wilson ignored the TV and immersed himself in preparing a good meal. Baking and cooking were considered an art form to Wilson. It was his secret passion. Even considered going to school to become a chef. His dad considered all male chefs to be a 'bunch of queers' and that 'no boy of his would ever waste their life making food.' Medical school was really his only option. Wouldn't dad love to see him now, Gay, baking, and a world-class oncologist. He always wondered where his life would have led him if he went to a culinary school, but usually his religious background would guilt him into being grateful for what he had. And really, he couldn't complain. He was a doctor, making a difference in the world. He was also in love with a brilliant doctor, who was also a royal pain in the ass.

Wilson put the pizza in the oven, and whipped up a simple salad. House was going to complain about the salad, so he threw in extra tomatoes in his portion and croutons. Wilson handed the plate to House and wandered back into the kitchen.

"Eat it. Don't just pick out the croutons."

House poked around his salad with his fingers, secretly searching out the croutons and tomatoes. 15 minutes later, the timer went off, and the kitchen and eventually the apartment filled with the aroma of 'hippie pizza'. House's mouth watered, and waited patiently to be served.

"You didn't even touch your spinach," Wilson pouted.

"Was saving room for pizza," House replied, taking a slice from Wilson.

"You have two slices on your plate."

"Consider it a compliment," he said, stuffing his face.

Wilson sighed, and went back to the kitchen.

"Grab me a bottle of water, will ya?"

"Not a beer?" Wilson thought to himself. A positive step. "Yeah, I'll get it."

House pushed play on the Tivo, and the opening jingle for Family Guy rang throughout the room.

"You know I hate this show. Is this part of my punishment?" Wilson stated calmly.

"No, it's part of your training. Your sense of humor is seriously lacking. If you pay attention, you may get a laugh or two."

"So what you're saying is, I should laugh at the racist, hateful… crap that is perpetuated on that show?"

House stared at him blankly. "Yes."

A smile curled on Wilson's lips. He popped a piece of chicken in his mouth, and awaited the horrors he was about to behold.

After two hours of being offended, utterly horrified and laughing at jokes he shouldn't have, it was time to wind down and go to bed. Wilson reached over and switched the TV off.

"Have you been a good boy?" House murmured.

"Yeah," Wilson responded tiredly.

House put his hand on the couch cushion, waiting for Wilson to snatch it up. But it was gentle how their hands met. Their fingers linked perfectly. A comfortable silence settled over them that was almost peaceful.

"It was hard today," Wilson confessed.

House sniggered and replied, "I don't know what to do about your blue balls situation."

"Way to go, killing the moment."

House's expression softened, and nodded, agreeing that the limit of physical connection was also difficult on him.

"God, I was so jealous today. I wanted to rip Cuddy off you and throw her out of your office."

"I initiated the hug. One of her friends found out they have a tumor. It seemed appropriate at the time."

Guilt rushed over Wilson's features. He sighed, and scrubbed his hand over his face. "I'm an asshole."

House snickered to himself, a goofy grin appeared on his face.

"You're lying!" Wilson exclaimed indignantly.

House laughed clearly louder than necessary, but he found it funny.

"You enjoy torturing me, don't you?" Wilson asked sourly.

"If for anything, it's to see the expression change in your eyes. So much passion."

Wilson sighed wearily. "I'm going to bed."

House stood up and stretched his arms. "G'night, James."

Wilson's heart skipped a beat when House used his first name. To Wilson, it was second to hearing him say 'I love you.'

"Good night."

House reached down and picked up the baby monitor. He flicked on the switch and the red light shone steadily. A devilish grin spread across his face. "You thought I forgot. Tsk, Tsk, Jimmy."

"Love you too, 'big brother," Wilson replied with a grin.


	4. Chapter 4

Wednesday. He'd finally made it half-way through the first week. Wilson sat at his desk, reviewing the paperwork that never seemed to end. The clock on the wall read 11:30. Only a half hour before he had to go fetch lunch. His cell phone gave the familiar chime of a text message. He looked at the message and gave an annoyed grunt.

"Happy 'hump' day!" the childish text message exclaimed.

Wilson decided that he'd be the bigger man, and just leave the message at that. At 12:00 sharp, he stood outside House's office door. He almost knocked, out of professional courtesy. He pushed that notion aside and stepped into the office.

"What'll you have for lunch?"

House didn't look up from his work. It was strange, watching House reading and signing documents. He only did this when Cuddy fought him tooth and nail, and held his personal possessions hostage. Finally, House looked up briefly.

"Something with protein," he responded blankly.

And with that, he went back to work. Wilson was surprised and a little concerned. House working through lunch? Wilson shook his head and walked to the cafeteria alone.

Flashbacks hit him as he remembered how he had used his job numerous times to avoid his marital problems. Rarely was he on the receiving end of people avoiding him. Being ignored by a man he loved so deeply was difficult.

Wilson smirked when he found the protein bars among the other real food. He picked the grossest flavor he could find. Lemon. He also picked up a roast beef sandwich and a bag of plain potato chips. He sat the sandwich outside House's office and came in with the protein bar. Wilson tossed the bar on the desk and began to leave the room.

"Is this your idea of some kind of joke?"

Wilson froze, but refused to turn around.

"Obviously you want to break the contract we made. I don't consider a lemon protein bar lunch, _Wilson_."

Wilson's anxiety level was skyrocketing. Cracking under the pressure, he turned to face House.

"House, I-"

"Leave the sandwich on the desk. I'm going to work through lunch today."

Wilson nodded in defeat. "How, how did you know?"

"When your body craves_ real_ protein, it can sense it. I've got work to do, Wilson," House replied, brushing Wilson off.

Wilson placed the lunch on House's desk, and slipped out of the room.

To put it lightly, Wilson was pissed when he got home. He felt used. God, was he that whipped? He slammed pots and pans around in the kitchen, not really affecting the status of dinner. House came home late, expecting to smell dinner, and see _his_ Wilson in the kitchen with an apron on. He was disappointed to find his kitchen cluttered with dishes, but nothing was made. Hobbling to the living room, he found Wilson in an undershirt and boxers, brooding.

"Where's dinner?"

"Piss off, House."

"Take 2. Where's my dinner?"

"I'm not your bitch. Order something yourself."

House maneuvered around the coffee table and plopped down next to Wilson.

"Alright, what do you want for dinner?"

Wilson wanted to throttle House. Scream at him, slap him, anything to get him to understand his feeling of manipulation and frustration.

"Do you get pleasure from making me suffer?" he asked through clenched teeth.

House rolled his eyes. "Get off your high horse, Wilson! Not everything revolves around you."

"That's right, I'm just a pawn in your carefully crafted game!"

"If you can't handle the boundaries, you know where the door is."

"You'd let me go, just like that?" his temper rising.

"Wilson, if you can't handle 4 days of discomfort, you're not worth the investment."

"So, you're allowed to do whatever you want?"

"Not quite. I don't get to fuck you until you moan my name," House replied smugly.

"Is that it?"

"Yeah, like I'd keep you around just for the free blow jobs."

"I actually give great blow jobs."

"I know."

A small grin was making its way to Wilson's face. "What makes you stay?"

House shifted uncomfortably. "You know why I stay."

"I need to hear you say it. It'll help make the torture bearable."

House sighed loudly, and turned to look at Wilson.

"I-," his voice cut off.

He cleared his throat and tried again, quieter this time. "I love you, James. Don't make me regret it."

Wilson felt the tears form in his eyes, but was too shocked to brush them away. He never expected…

"Really?" he asked desperately.

House rolled his eyes for the second time that evening. "Don't be so dense. You're not the only one who gave up sex for 3 months."


	5. Chapter 5

**AN:** I'd be remiss if I didn't thank those who are reading this story. And forgive me if I haven't responded back to your review. They are much appreciated.

I have to credit this website for the witty masturbation terms. I thank What a silly website.

Also, this is a mature rated story. So… while you're reading, remember that. Otherwise, enjoy!

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Chapter 5:

It was minutes before Wilson's probation for masturbation was up. He lay sprawled out on the couch, bottle of lotion on the coffee table begging to be used in an erotic way. 6:30! He could make it to 6:30.

He shimmied his boxers down to his knees. His body tingled with anticipation. Seven days of neglect had wound him tighter than a 5 speed at 5 grand in first gear. He squirt some lotion in his hands and rubbed them together to get some warmth. With his eyes pinched shut, his hands made their way to his twitching cock. He knew this session would be quick and unfulfilling, so he sped up the pace. Before things could spiral out of control, he felt familiar hands stilling his movements.

Wilson snapped his eyes open to find House towering over him. He closed his eyes, hoping he was a hallucination. As Wilson became more aware of his surroundings, he still felt House's hands on his.

Cocking one eye open, he groggily exclaimed, "Damn it! Can't a guy masturbate in peace?"

"Change of plans," House replied. "You lose 'emptying your sex pistol', _but_ you gain kissing."

Wilson's cock was screaming in protest.

"House!" Wilson groaned in a crescendo.

"Hey, I'm being pretty generous here. Don't you miss kissing my full, supple lips?" he asked, pouting.

"I can wait another week," Wilson snapped.

He tried to pump his cock, and ignore the overbearing presence of House. But he was stopped as soon as he started.

"God DAMN IT!" Wilson exclaimed.

"Who were you thinking about while you were 'giving yourself a hand'?"

"Do you sit around and conjure up terms for… masturbating? Seriously, House. I wasn't thinking of anything. I hadn't gotten that far."

House glanced down at Wilson's shriveling cock, then back up at him.

"Hands off in… 1, 2…3!"

House raised his hand up in the air and waited for Wilson to do the same. Annoyed at rapidly losing his erection, he took the pillow from under his head and threw it at House.

"That wasn't so_hard, _was it?"

"It was _hard_ enough, House."

"Sit up," House responded, prodding him with his cane.

Wilson tucked himself back into his boxers, and did what he was told. Flopping down next to Wilson, he gave a sideways glance, and then patted his lap. It was a rare opportunity to cuddle with Gregory House. And even more so when he instigated it. As pissed as Wilson was, he wasn't about to pass up this opportunity. Wilson laid his head in House's lap and felt fingers thread through his hair.

"Poor 'lil Jimmy. Big, bad, Greg is being so mean."

Wilson looked up at his personal tormentor, and wondered what he did in his childhood to deserve House.

"I already get kissing this week. You either give me sex, or I get to sleep in the same bed as you."

House grinned widely. "See? I knew you were paying attention. If you can keep your hands off your penis and my penis, you can come back to bed with me."

"Right now?"

"You have something better to do?"

"Well I did 10 minutes-"

A stern look from House silenced him.

"I'd rather stay here."

House knew why Wilson wanted to stay. But he also knew that it'd be more comfortable if they went back to his room.

"We can continue this on my spacious, comfortable bed together, or I can go back alone and get some shut eye."

"Alright," he murmured in resignation.

Wilson stood first to lend a hand to House. House took the hand and was yanked from the couch with such force that he collided with Wilson. The immediate reaction from House was to latch his hand onto Wilson's shoulder to keep from falling. By doing this, they both became pressed against one another, eyes locking.

Wilson was the first to look away, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. House's eyes had great power over him. Waiting patiently for a smart remark, he raised his glance back to House. As their gazes locked again, House leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on Wilson's surprised mouth.

"I can't grope you properly unless we're in bed."

He reached down and pinched Wilson's butt for good measure. Wilson yelped in surprise rather than pain.

"I'll lead," he said, reaching for his cane.

* * *

**AN:** I know where I'm going with this, I just don't know how long it will be. Thanks for sticking around and reviewing.

Also, if I make any mistakes grammatically or spelling-wise, let me know! I'm beta-free right now. Content, or OCC mistakes are proudly mine. Well, I try not to be too much OCC…


	6. Chapter 6

The bedroom was a slight mess, with amber pill bottles strewn about, just as Wilson remembered it. House climbed into bed without flourish and waited for Wilson to do the same.

"The bed's this way. See where I'm laying?" he called from the bed. 

Wilson grinned and joined his lover in their bed. He peeled his socks off with his toes and wiggled them freely. Wilson sighed contently as his body formed to the bed. After sleeping on the couch a week, he was glad to be back.

"Comfortable?"

"I think I'll sleep here all day."

"No. In 2 months and 3 weeks after a weekend of sexacapades, you then can waste a day sleeping."

Wilson just grinned and leaned over House to kiss him. It was slow and gentle to begin. But it became more fervent manner when House gave an auditable gasp.

"What?" Wilson panted.

"N-nothing," he replied, repressing a shudder.

"Is that a banana in your pocket, or an erection in your pocket?" Wilson laughed through panting breaths.

House growled and crushed his lips to Wilson. He did really talk too much for his own good. Both of their brains turned to mush as they relied on their primal instinct. Wilson's instinct was to rip off House's pants and make him crazy with desire. House, however wanted to take Wilson on his back and make him moan like a wanton whore.

All forms of self control were vanishing when Wilson felt House's fingers stretching the elastic of Wilson's boxers.

"House," he groaned softly.

The comment was ignored, and House continued. Wilson tried a little louder.

"House, please," he pleaded earnestly.

When House brushed his fingertips across Wilson's quivering abdomen, his breath hitched and he bowed his head. Surprising both himself and House, he slammed House's shoulder's to the bed.

"Stop!"

House looked up with glazed eyes.

"Why?" he challenged.

Wilson climbed off and groaned when he landed on his back next to House. House turned on his side to watch Wilson. His better half was staring up at the ceiling, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. Wilson saw in his _**peripheral **_vision that House was studying him. 

"What do you want me to say? If you touched me below the waist right now, I'd come in my boxers."

A small, evil grin appeared on House's face.

"I swear to God- House!"

"What?" he asked innocently.

"You were leading me on. You wanted to see if I'd break." Wilson stopped to process. It then hit him like an epiphany. "You bastard," he said with disturbing awe.

"I guess I just got caught up in the moment."

"I don't believe that. Do you subconsciously want me to fail?"

Obviously wanting to change the subject, House asked, "How often did you masturbate when we were sleeping together?"

"What? Wilson asked, flabbergasted.

"A number. How many times?"

"I don't know. 2, 3 times a week?"

"What did you think about when you were jerking off?"

"Do you want an honest answer, or do you want me to tell you what you want to hear?" 

"Don't worry. I'm not going to run off to my girlfriends because you're not pleasuring yourself to me."

"I don't think you'll be running anywhere."

Pain was etched on House's face. It vanished as quickly as it came. Wilson mentally slapped himself on the forehead.

"House, I'm sorry. That was uncalled for," he whispered.

House smiled bitterly. "No you're not. You feel guilty about it. Now answer the question."

Wilson sighed, and adjusted himself on the bed. "Sometimes it's other men, other times it's of women I've been with. Obviously if the sex the night previous was good, I'll pay tribute. How many times have you… uh, done it?" he countered.

House rolled his eyes. "Masturbate? What, are you twelve? I've done it everyday. I do it everyday, until you were put on probation."

Wilson looked at him in awe, and slight stupefaction. "Why?"

"Wanted to see if it was possible without going insane."

"Medically or psychologically?"

"When I was in high school, I met a girl in my French class. Everyone wanted to… plow her. She was a total babe," House's voice began, sounding like he was reading a fairy tale to a small child.

Wilson raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"She was one of those religious fanatics. But I made nice with her. Even got invited to her church. Ironically it was a sermon about abstinence until marriage. Naturally I spoke out against their incredibly flawed logic, and had medical statistics to back it up. After sufficiently flustering the youth preacher, he gave me an ultimatum. I had to give up any sexual deviant behaviors, accept Jesus, or I'd lose out on this _fine_ daughter of God. I stopped choking the life out of my penis for about two weeks, before I realized she wouldn't put out."

House took a dramatic breath, and started again. "A week later, I got my first blow job from another girl, and I haven't looked back since."

"I was 14," Wilson replied timidly. "He was the assistant to my soccer coach. He was 17 years old. God," he murmured to himself. "Sloppy and quick."

House snorted. "Did you reciprocate?"

"Oh yes," he smiled fondly. "Perfect practice makes perfect performance. I wanted… more of a relationship with him, but he wouldn't have any of that. You wanna know what he said to me? 'I'm not a queer. Boys just give better blowjobs.' That never made any sense to me."

"Are we done swapping 'first time' stories?" House asked, sufficiently pleased how he was able to manipulate conversation, "I think it's time for you to make me somethin' to eat."

"My dick hurts," Wilson whined. "You go make something."

"Since when does blue balls prevent you from making something to eat?"

"Are you willing to risk it?"

House looked at him, then agreed. "Touché. I'll order something spicy. Something to get some color back to your cojones."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Your stunned silence is very reassuring. -Roz from Monsters Inc.

* * *

It was a month and a half into the punishment and retraining of Wilson. And because he bore his punishment well, without much protest, House knew that he needed to be rewarded for his good behavior.

For the most part, Wilson was the early riser in their relationship. But House seemed to wake up at 5:30, right on cue every Saturday morning, an hour before the new week of punishment. Though he'd never admit it to Wilson, he was proud of him. He accepted House's unorthodox arrangement, and he did so well.

House listened to the signs of Wilson waking up, and turned to watch him.

"Wake up, wake up, wake up, sleepy head!" House began in a sing-song voice.

Wilson groaned and buried his head in his pillow.

"Are you always this chipper in the morning?" he grunted sleepily.

House scooted closer to him and began to place soft stubble kisses on his neck, knowing full well that his actions would wake him up.

"House," he whined. "You're scratchy. Can't I sleep in, just this once?"

House grinned wickedly. "Nope. Go take a shower. We've got a full day ahead of you."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "What has possessed you to be up this early?"

"Couldn't sleep. Must be all those years in med school. Trained me to be on call. Now, are you going to shower so I can give you your _surprise_?"

Wilson's body language changed immediately. "Present?" he asked curiously.

"Yes," he replied, pointing to the bathroom.

"Is it sex?" he asked, throwing the comforter back.

"No, it's not sex. Guess again."

"I… I honestly have no idea," he replied, baffled at the idea of presents.

"Don't be such a spoil sport. _Think_, Jimmy."

"A present," he said, thinking aloud. "Hmm. Not sex. This isn't a 'for me, for you' gift, is it?"

House began grinning like a fool when he pulled two envelopes from under his pillow.

"Pick one," he replied.

Wilson reached for the left, but at the last minute, he chose the right. He slipped his finger through a small opening of the envelope and tore it open slowly. When he pulled the two thin pieces of cardstock out of the envelope, he gasped in disbelief.

"Seriously, House?"

"Unless you want me to take them back, and get something a little less, _gay,_" he emphasized, "Then, no."

"I can't believe- tickets to the ballet!" Wilson exclaimed.

"You'd put out for those, right?"

"Is this-THESE ARE FOR SLEEPING BEAUTY!" Wilson squealed. "House, that's my favorite…" he trailed off, his voice a little more subdued. "These tickets are for tonight."

"I know," he said, not able to take his eyes off of Wilson.

"What's in the other envelope?"

"Bi-curious, or just regular type?"

"Come on, House. Don't leave me hanging."

"Open it yourself," he said, handing him the envelope.

He took it, and opened it with less care than the other one.

"It says, 'open the other one.' Nice, House," he said, grinning.

"I almost wrote, 'try again next month.' Didn't think it'd go over well."

"What am I going to wear?" he asked hazily. "Better yet, what are _you _going to wear?"

"What? I've got clothes. You're the one that's smelly. I'd be more worried about that."

Wilson leaned over House, and placed a gentle kiss on his lips.

"Thank you for this. It means a lot to me."

"So to recap, you put out for the ballet, right?"

Wilson grinned, despite himself. "Yes, House. I'd put out. Guess I get these tickets sex free."

"No way!" House protested. "This is my ace in the hole. I get to pull this one out on those nights you've 'got a headache'."

"I can't believe you bought them. I haven't been to the ballet in years."

"Don't worry. My pride is still intact. I bought 'em online."

* * *

New chapters should be up tomorrow. I'm a slacker. But, at least we're getting somewhere. As always, I appreciate all reviews.

Also, I'm looking for a beta. It's time. Feel free to email me at forward to hearing from you.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **My god. It's been so long since I've updated. I've had this story in notebooks, taunting me. I fought the machine and finally transferred it to my computer. Enjoy.

* * *

"Cuddy, I need a favor," House proclaimed, bursting into her office.

Whoa. Wait. You're asking _me _for a favor, rather than telling me what you want? What happened to the 'It's better to ask for forgiveness than for permission theory? Is something wrong?" Cuddy answered, intrigued that House came into her office, asking for _anything_.

House looked down at his hands on his cane, and raised his head slowly, showing a full-fledged grin.

"My god. You are sick. Are- are you in love?" she asked in disbelief.

House watched her smugly, enjoying watching her try to make sense of the situation.

"I haven't seen you this happy since-"

She stopped herself short before she would say something that she'd regret. Stacy immediately came to mind, but she wouldn't dare bring that up. Especially with the eerie grin on House's face.

"…since you bought your I pod," she finished lamely.

"Wilson and I need two weeks off."

"No way," she replied automatically, organizing the paperwork on her desk. Stopping abruptly, she tilted her head to process the information that House just gave her.

_'Now, why would House need time off with Wilson, if he's in love with someone…?'_

When she finally realizing what House was implementing, it hit her like a ton of bricks. The expression on her face was priceless.

"I-you… Wilson?" she stuttered stupidly.

"You're so eloquent when you're flustered. Two weeks," he demanded.

"Nuh-," she said, mouth and brain uncooperative. She tried again. "How long?"

"Little over six months. After about eight years of foreplay. Come on, Cuddy. He_ never_ takes time off, and you're always looking for ways to get rid of me. Everybody wins."

"He has patients."

"If they're dying when he diagnosed them, they'll still be dying, or dead by the time we get back."

"House!" she exclaimed, looking indignant.

"I owe him," House muttered.

"For what?"

"The three months of sex I deprived him of."

"That really isn't any of my-"

"Listen. I… I want to make this…"

Cuddy watched as House struggled with the right words, not wanting to sound overly emotional.

"…special."

As soon as he said it, he made a face, disappointed at his lack of word choice.

"You love him, don't you?" she asked knowingly.

"He's done everything I've asked him to," he said, pacing her office now, face etched with thought. He looked up sharply at Cuddy with a scowl. "I'll work his clinic hours for the time he's gone."

"Bargaining, now," she replied with a grin. "Wow, House. You've got it bad," she chuckled.

"Yes, yes. Bask in my moment of weakness. Would it help if I said… No. Even I can't do that. My pride, to strong," he replied dramatically.

"Say 'please' House, and I'll give it to you."

House made a face again. But he straightened his sports coat, cracked his neck and asked in his booming baritone, "Doctor Cuddy, can Wilson and I _please _have two blessed weeks off from this sterile paradise?"

She watched him with a cheeky smile, and shook her head.

"Granted, House. But don't-"

"I might be calling you to be a witness sometime during our break."

"Witness?" she asked, puzzled. "Witness… You're not going to-"

"Don't worry. I won't be the fourth Mrs. Wilson. He'll be the first Mrs. House."

"You'd better know what you're doing," she cautioned.

"I always know what I'm doing. I'll call you Friday night, with ticket information. We're going to Hawaii."

"Hawaii, how romantic," Cuddy grinned.

"I know it's disgustingly cliché, but it's one state that will issue wedding certificates to 'our kind.' And, Wilson could use some sun," he replied, his expression softening.

Cuddy's expression matched House's as she listened him continue.

"Although I'm not the perfect model of discretion, for Wilson's sake. If you could keep this-"

"Say no more. It's done."

He grinned brightly as he turned to leave.

"Your hard ass routine is fading, House. You'll soon be domesticated, with a kid and a puppy before you know it. You're willing to become a softie?"

"You've obviously never have had sex with Wilson before. He's pretty convincing."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** This story is about to get a very large makeover. I've been reading the beginning chapters, and I so desperately need to read over my stuff more often. Major corrections will be made, as well as minor. Expect it up… soon.

* * *

Wilson opened his office door and immediately spotted the envelope and bright red lollipop that sat on his desk. He took the lollipop out of its wrapper and read the note.

_Only one envelope this time. Cancel your appointments_ _for the next two weeks, for tomorrow, we ride._

Wilson rolled the lollipop around in his mouth, and called in his secretary. He knew better not to ask questions at this time. Complete and utter compliance seemed easiest, especially when the note mentioned vacation.

* * *

"Two weeks? What if something happens?" Thirteen complained.

"You all know you're doctors, right?" House asked, scanning the room of faces that showed an array of emotions.

"You've got Foreman. And Cuddy. It's about time you guys grow up."

"Where are you going?" Kutner ventured.

"Hell. I hear that it's nice this time of year. Do we have a case today?"

"No, but-" Taub started to say.

"Go then, children. 15 hours of clinic duty up for grabs. Think of it as my going away gift. First one to take it will get a really cool prize when I get back."

"I'll-" Kutner started, but was interrupted before he could finish.

"How eager you are, young grasshopper. It's actually 25 hours. Kutner, for your eagerness, you get 10. Taub and Thirteen, split the rest."

Both Taub and Thirteen were about to protest when House put up a hand to interrupt them.

"Please, don't thank me. Now," he said with a loud clap, "Scat. Wouldn't want to waste your weekend _working_. I know I won't be."

* * *

When House arrived home, his senses were assaulted with the scent of strong spices. It was always a good night when Wilson made Indian food. He shut the door quietly, and enjoyed the album 'Hair' that was playing clearly on the turntable.

In the kitchen, he watched as Wilson, oblivious to the eyes of his lover, swaying to the music. Every so often he'd hum off-key to the music. If House was one to openly admit emotion, he would've been overwhelmed with how much he was in love with Wilson, right at that moment. But instead of dwelling on something that was heavy, he made his way into the kitchen, placing his sturdy hands on Wilson's hips, slowing the movement and pressing himself against Wilson's back. Placing his chin on Wilson's shoulder, he glanced down at the frying pan.

"Whatcha makin'?" he asked, voice low and husky.

Wilson's body relaxed significantly against the touch, and sighed contently.

"Oh, a little of this, and that."

House began to nuzzle Wilson's neck and chin, hoping he'd turn his head. As if on cue, he turned his head and smiled. House captured the mouth he loved so much. Just as House was about to add some extra dynamic to the kiss, Wilson exclaimed,

"The noodles are going to burn if I don't-"

"I can take a hint," House laughed gruffly and let him go.

Wilson hazy expression changed to worry instantaneously.

"N- House. Don't be like that," a pout beginning to form.

"It's fine. I have stuff I've gotta be doing anyway."

A brief expression of annoyance crossed Wilson's face, but it was replaced with a smile.

House wandered into his room. _Their room_, he reminded himself. Soon it would be official. Packing was something that was second nature to him, being a military brat. Taking a couple of suitcases and began to find things to pack. His own packing would be done in a matter of minutes. He sent out his laundry a few days prior to be washed. Wilson, however, was going to be trickier to pack for.

Just then, Wilson poked his head inside the door. Looking up, House saw the crazed panic look on Wilson's face.

"Surprise!" House exclaimed. "We're leaving Thursday."

"Wha- What? Where?" Wilson spluttered.

"You got the note?"

"Yeah," Wilson sighed.

"Did you follow the directions?"

"Mmm hmm."

"We're taking a vacation. Guess you'll have to trust me. You'll have to pack yourself."

"How am I supposed to know what to pack if you won't tell me where we're going?" Wilson countered.

"A box of novelty condoms and your red thong should suffice. It's not like you're gonna get out of bed anyways."

Wilson blushed despite himself, and ducked out the door. "Dinner's ready when you are," he replied, walking back to the kitchen.


End file.
